It takes a village

S tretched across a makeshift platform in Lynn McCormick’s Marysville family room is her perfect world.

A deep blue sky twinkles behind a snowy village filled with miniature Victorian-era houses, brightly lighted shops and bustling townsfolk preparing for the holidays.

Carolers croon on street corners, workers string lights on a Christmas tree, a blacksmith pounds away near “Cocoa Works.”

It’s a warm holiday moment of Dickenslike perfection.

For McCormick, 64, this village of Department 56 collectibles satisfies a yearning for the childhood she never had.

McCormick faced rejection, shame and abuse as a child.

As a young adult, she struggled to shed a legacy of alcoholism and depression that claimed her mother and grandmother.

She lost her child and found her again.

McCormick says she was born in California in 1940, the product of a romantic tryst between her mother and Errol Flynn – yes, that Errol Flynn, the actor.

McCormick didn’t learn who her father was until after his death. For many years, she was ashamed of the circumstances of her birth.

Flynn acted in more than 50 films, often playing the role of swashbuckling hero. He earned a reputation as an alcoholic and a playboy; the term “In Like Flynn” refers to his success with women. He died at age 50 from a heart attack on a boat while he was with a 17-year-old girl.

McCormick keeps photocopied news articles of the trial in which her mother sued Flynn for paternity. He settled the suit.

In a 1943 newspaper article from the San Francisco News-Call Bulletin about the trial, a photo of McCormick’s cherubic toddler face is printed next to Flynn’s. The article describes how McCormick, then 2, asked her mother if one of the reporters at the trial was her daddy. The reporters laughed; McCormick remembers none of it.

Soon after McCormick’s birth, her mother abandoned her in the charity ward of the hospital. Elderly relatives took McCormick in, but couldn’t care for her for long. McCormick’s mother picked her up just long enough for her appearance in court.

She lived with a string of foster parents in California until she was 12. The last abused her and then turned her out on the street.

She remembers spending the first day homeless, watching newsreels and eating popcorn. When the theater closed, she sought shelter nearby.

The Salvation Army rescued her after she was found cowering in a toilet stall at a Greyhound Bus depot.

From then on, she lived at a Salvation Army orphanage, the Lynton Home for Girls in San Francisco.

The Salvation Army cared for her in a way no one had. Even though she had little and wore hand-me-downs, she described it as “the good part of my childhood.”

After graduating from high school, McCormick attended a Salvation Army training college, where she worked with the poor and studied the Bible.

Soon after high school, McCormick met and married a wealthy middle-aged lawyer, in part because she wanted the material things she lacked during her youth, she said.

McCormick thought she could save her husband from his drinking; instead, he introduced her to alcohol. By the time her only child, a daughter, came along, McCormick was mired in addiction.

Unable to care for her child, McCormick gave up her 6-year-old for adoption.

At age 34, she found recovery with the help of a 12-step program. “Recovery is a blessing,” she said. “It takes you from death to life.”

She remarried and started life again. In 1990, she began to search for her daughter. After a decade, she found her living in Kentucky.

They’ve since formed a loving bond, and McCormick was relieved to learn her daughter leads a productive, successful life free of addiction and abuse.

“When it says the sins of the father are handed down, they’re not kidding.” McCormick said.

Her daughter managed to break free from a pattern of mother abandoning child that stretched from McCormick’s grandmother to herself.

“(My daughter) really broke the mold.”

McCormick also learned she has three grandsons. A picture of her daughter and grandsons sits on a family room table. The oldest strongly resembles Flynn.

For him, learning his grandfather was a famous actor has been “a wonderful thing,” a chance to have an identity, McCormick said.

“I stopped resenting this man who abandoned me,” she said of Flynn.

During the holidays as a child McCormick often prayed for a dollhouse, but never received one.

Now, each November, McCormick takes two weeks off her job as a Snohomish County probation officer for Judge Jay Wisman to put up the scale-model village of picturesque buildings.

When she stumbled on collectible villages, she was smitten. She began to collect village buildings, people and accessories made by the company Department 56 about seven years ago, making most of her purchases from Teri’s Hallmark in Marysville.

“It’s like every dollhouse I ever prayed for by 10,” she said.

It takes her about 10 days to unwrap and arrange the 50-some buildings and hundreds of people and accessories she owns.

Her husband, John, builds a tiered platform across a counter between the dining and family rooms to accommodate the village.

He creates the starry night sky by stringing holiday lights behind a piece of blue fabric. Gauzy white material hangs around the base of the village, hiding a web of electrical cords attached to the collectibles.

The holiday season is a string of nonstop parties at the couple’s home, and the village is the glowing centerpiece.

A Salvation Army band performing on one of the wintry street corners is one of her favorite parts in the collection.

Many Department 56 collectibles rise in value over time and some of McCormick’s are valuable. She owns an observatory worth more than $700. But McCormick cares little about the material value. For her, it embodies childhood joys. She loves carousels for the same reason.

“This is all junk to a lot of people,” she said.

“For me, this is all childhood. It’s like going to Grandma’s house.”

Ultimately, her experiences have shaped McCormick into an advocate and a giver. She credits the 12-step program and the Salvation Army as her saving graces.

She served on the board of the Everett Gospel Mission and donates her time and money to the Salvation Army. She leads Sunday services at a Marysville nursing home.

What is Department 56? Department 56 – for the uninitiated it sounds like some kind of secret government agency or the airport office in charge of finding lost luggage. In reality, it’s a company that produces giftware and collectibles. Department 56 is best known for its intricate, handcrafted porcelain or ceramic villages, although it also sells figurines and other decorations. The company creates different village lines in various seasonal themes, such as the North Pole Series, Little Town of Bethlehem, Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” and Alpine Village series. Prices vary but most buildings cost $60 or more depending on their size, while the people that populate the villages cost about $15. The collectibles rise in value over time and rarer pieces can go for hundreds of dollars. Devotees collect lighted shops, houses, municipal buildings, people and accessories and often put them together to form scenes. The company began in 1976 as part of a Minneapolis florist. The company used a numbering system to identify each of its departments and the wholesale gift imports department was No. 56. The company does not sell its products directly. The collectibles can be purchased in area gift shops, including Teri’s Hallmark in Marysville (360-653-9555). For help locating other authorized dealers, call the company at 800-548-8696. The Village Escape in Everett is a club for those who collect village displays. For more information, e-mail Annette DeVoe at d56fool@aol.com. Debra Smith

“If we have more than we need, the only reason is so we can share it with someone who doesn’t,” she said.

She speaks to local churches and community groups and her messages are the grace of God, experiences, strength and hope.

At her job as a probation officer, she can a look an addicted mother in the eye whose lost her children and tell that woman she’s been there too. There is hope.

Sobriety is life, McCormick said.

And she chooses life.

Reporter Debra Smith: 425-339-3197 or dsmith@ heraldnet.com.